


hindsight is better shared.

by bananasarehellagay



Series: broken and whole, parts and pieces [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Analysis, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Nonbinary Character, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Therapy, Wholesome Ghost Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Angst, basically i love ghostbur and alivebur too much, if you arent caught up with the SMP do not read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananasarehellagay/pseuds/bananasarehellagay
Summary: When Wilbur arrived in eternity, he didn't expect for a ghost to become his best friend.Or, the time when Ghostbur and Wilbur bonded over many things and Wil finally got closure from his life.
Series: broken and whole, parts and pieces [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165301
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaah so long note. i've been working on this bad boy for a while. I really love Alivebur and Ghostbur as characters and I wanted to explore interactions with the two of them together. all relationships are platonic!! this is a oneshot, however there is a short epilogue that isn't plot relevant that i'll be attaching via another chapter. tysm for reading!  
> thank you to PsychicBananaSplit for being my wonderful beta, ily ily ily  
> as always, i love your comments, from <3 to keyspam to screeching about your favorite lines and parts! tell me what you think!

It was quiet here. It always had been, really. Before Wilbur arrived, and well after Ghostbur left. It was just the two of them, for a short while. Eventually, the others had found them, and it became a bit less quiet. But like everything in life -and in death, apparently- the people around you are temporary. Souls fade, get lost, or choose to be alone. Some even go in search of new places. Others go mad trying to find a way back. He remembered the days where he sat in those greying fields with Ghostbur, heavy fog barely pierced by the sunlight. Talking for hours, Wil sharing memories and Ghostbur asking questions. Ghost never gave anything of their own life -if they’d had one- but that never bothered him. Wilbur wasn’t actually sure that Ghostbur had ever been human, and if they had been, it’d sure been a long time between their lifetime and now. The Unliving Plane -or at least that’s what Ghost called this place- had many gateways to and from the Living world, and many calm pools that acted as a glass ceiling to view the goings-on below. Wilbur spent a lot of his early days looking over L’manburg, watching Tommy in exile. At some point, he let go. He couldn't remember exactly when, but there was a moment when he realized he didn't want to feel bitter anymore. He wasn't Alivebur, as Ghost called him when they referred to him in the past tense, he was Wilbur. Dead. And he preferred it that way. He still enjoyed telling Ghost about his life, though, and the people who were such major parts of it.

_ “There was Dream of course, Tommy and Tubbo, Fundy, Eret the traitorous bastard. George slept through several wars, if I remember correctly, and you’ve met Schlatt.” _

_ “And you're sure that they all didn't like you.” _

_ He had chuckled at that. “No, Ghost. They didn't like me. Not after what I did. Not before, even.” _

_ They had frowned at that. “Not even-” They twined their hands together, translucent cobalt-stained fingers dancing over each other, an anxious waltz where the musicians had died mid-song. “Not even Philza? He was your father, you don't think he loved you? Tommy and Tubbo? They looked up to you, like brothers I think. They had to care about you in some respect…” _

_ He sighed and looked away from his friend, the only one who's company he didn't find to be a headache in this place. “I hope they hate me. I deserve it. I hope- I hope they've moved on.” _

_ “And if they haven’t?” _

_ “Then they're soft idiots and the reason L’manburg burned!” He bit out. _

_ Ghostbur didn’t start, didn't react to his outburst in any way except for a small frown pinching their lips. “You don't believe that.” _

_ “I-” _

_ “I know you don't believe that. You know you don't believe that. I don't have to convince you otherwise.” _

They had walked away after that. Ghost was good at that, giving Wil space to think when he needed it. Giving him time. They’d come back with a daisy crown, and a second string of woven flowers for him. They always came back. He'd had a breakdown the first time Ghostbur left, afraid that he'd be alone again, having pushed away his only friend. The quiet had gotten too loud, and he’d curled into a tight ball in an empty field. Wind rushed by his ears, sounding like freight trains to his overstimulated mind. Covering them with his hands, the wind was replaced with voices: thousands of whispering, shouting, crying, laughing people. Friends, enemies, rivals, lovers. All telling him how he’d failed, how he’d left, why he was alone now. All alone, everyone gone, and Wilbur in the center. Dead with no way back...

_ You hate us don’t you, you never cared for poor little Tubbo, useless Tubbo. _

“No, no I-”

_ Hey dickhead! Y’know that leaving us down here was a pussy move, right? Wilbur the pussy, I say. _

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, I had to-”

_ You truly were easy to betray, Wilbur. When people speak of the two of us, one will be on the right side of history, and… well. My kingdom is still standing. _

“Eret, I’m sorry-”

_ You sat and watched while I used Tubbo! While I ripped apart L’manburg you sat by and watched! Like you cared if it was a democratic election, you were going to rig it anyway! What stopped you from doing the right thing, huh? _

“N- no, shut up-”

_ You just  _ had _ to go and make a government. Give all your problems to Tubbo. Yanno, I hate orphans as much as the next anarchist, but that was harsh, man. _

“Shut- shut up shut up shut up-”

The voices overlapped until he couldn't tell the difference between them. Until they all sounded like him. And the worst part? They were right. A hand fell softly on one of his shoulders, and he violently flinched away. With his eyes screwed shut and his hands tight over his ears, he couldn't tell who was trying to get his attention. The person sat near him, grass moving out of the way when they did. He felt a weight settle around his shoulders. His… his coat. Wilbur carefully moved his hands from his head to wrap his coat tight to his body. Listened to the wind rustle the grass. A small voice piped up from the person in front of him.

“I'm not going to touch you, because you seem a tad bit upset, but I'm here for anything you need.” Ghostbur. 

Wilbur winced, rocking back and forth as he babbled. “I- I'm sorry I just thought you left, and it's fucking stupid, I know, but I just couldn't- I didn't want to be alone and-” 

“Hey, it's okay! Well, no it's not. But it's okay that you aren't okay! I get not okay all the time! It feels like rain, hurts. I can help though!” Ghostbur said brightly. Wilbur fisted his hands into the grass -oddly translucent, and didn't feel quite right. He remembered what grass felt like. Right? “Anything you want to tell me, I'm always here! If leaving makes you feel the way I feel in the rain, I'll leave less! Simple!”

Wilbur frowned, brow furrowing. The corners of his mouth pinched his lips into a thin line. “You shouldn't have to do that for me.”

“But I want to! When was the last time someone did something nice to you with no strings attached?”

“I-” His mouth opened to send back a biting rebuttal, something to prove that  _ he was cared for, goddamnit. _ But… he couldn't think of anything. Not any singular action that wasn't a political move, someone's best or only option. He was always secondary, always overlooked, always used. Ghostbur quirked their head to the left and stared at him with that aggravating compassion that they had for everyone and everything. Wilbur closed his mouth.

“I'll leave when I need to, but I'll try to give you ample warning and a loose time frame! Time is hard here, but if it helps I can make the effort!” They said softly.

“You promise?”

“I do.”

They'd given him a flower crown then, woven oxeye daisies stained blue from the dye that seemed to permanently be on Ghost’s hands. They helped him up -and didn't let go of his hand- and took him on an adventure, pointing out their favorite looking pools and climbing trees, and the small campsite they'd made when they first got here.

“It was a long time ago, but I still remember how to pitch a good tent!”

“That's good, because if Tommy had to pitch his own it would've collapsed on him by now.” Wil had chuckled softly, still a bit tired from his panic attack before. Less verbal, but Ghostbur never faulted him for that.

“Ah yes. The- the  _ Tnret _ .”

The two spirits continued on their walk, traveling around until Wilbur had worked off his nervous energy and was feeling more grounded. This happened a lot, where Wilbur would have a panic attack, or a flashback, or a breakdown, and Ghost would comfort him. Eventually they got to a point where both parties were comfortable with touch, and it was common to find the pair hugging or holding hands. Neither saw the point in romance, but they also didn't see the point in withholding physical affection from each other. They were happy as friends, for however long they both had in this foggy place.

Even after they'd grown apart, after Schlatt- _ Glatt _ had found him, and Ghost started spending more time in the Living Plane, Ghostbur would come to visit him every once and a while. They kept their promise, always telling him when they'd be gone and for how long, and sometimes even what pools to look for them in if he got anxious. Ghost spent a lot of time with Tommy, and rebuilding L’manburg. Wilbur didn't go looking for them when Ghost said they'd be in the destroyed country. Even so, he enjoyed the small trinkets and stories they brought back for him. 

He remembered his surprise when he'd first seen Ghostbur’s pet sheep in the Unliving. “Look, Wil, I've named him Friend!” They’d exclaimed, tumbling through the birch trees with a lead in hand. 

Wilbur had startled upon seeing the gamboling creature, worried about the technicality of having a living thing in a plane built for spirits. “Did you fucking kill your sheep to get it here, Ghostbur?” 

Ghost only laughed, leading the cloud-like animal closer to the former outcast. “No no no, Friend can’t die just by being brought here! And she doesn't have to be dead to be here either! She’s just here.” They beamed, an expression that could've brightened the whole sky.

Wilbur remembered running his hands through the sheep’s soft blue wool, smiling to himself as the memory of Tommy begging him for a spool of blue spun thread they'd admired a weaver making passes through his mind. Tommy had made most of the uniforms for the resistance, the revolution. He'd patched up Wil’s coat many times, and he looked at the neat stitches fondly.

He’d looked up, making eye contact with Ghost as he felt his smile spread into a grin. “Friend’s a good name. Fitting.”

“I think so! I found him near Technoblade’s house! He had lots of friends over that day, though he didn't seem very excited about it. Either way, I felt inspired!”

Wil quirked his head at the mention of Techno. “How  _ is _ The Blade doing now?” He asked. “Haven't heard much about him, but he probably prefers it that way.”

“He’s doing well! He's retired now, lives out in the Arctic with Philza! He has a bee farm, and a squid farm, and a beautiful horse named-”

Wilbur cut them off, his voice twisted with hurt and confusion. “Philza?”

Ghostbur sobered, their lighthearted expression falling and being quickly replaced with a melancholic softness. “Yes. Philza didn't want to stay in L’manburg while mourning, so he moved to the country with Techno. He still has a home in L’manburg, but he travels between the two often.”

Wil sat with an unnatural stillness. Usually there was always a part of him moving, a bouncy knee, a fidgeting hand. But now he had sat straight, hands buried in Friend’s woolen coat. Ghostbur’s eyes pinched in concern.

“Hug?” They asked. When Wil responded with a nod, Ghostbur cozied up to his side and wrapped their warm-breeze arms around him. They sat like that for a while, until Wilbur was ready to talk again.

“You know, did I ever tell you about Sally?”

Ghostbur sat up next to him, coaxing Friend to lay on top of their lap. “No, I don't  _ think _ you have.” They’d quirked their head to the side, those pale eyes looking into his soul. Or just at him, as it were. All he was then was a soul, a soul taken the form of a dead man. “But I-  _ we  _ have time! We have time!”

“She was the love of my life, that salmon.”

“Wait, wait wait wait. Wil. Back up a bit on the  _ salmon _ part-”

“Yes, Sally was a salmon. Quite beautiful, in fact.”

“A-” Their face twisted up as they tried to hold in laughter and failed. “An actual salmon, like the fish, like- like-”

Wil laughed, throwing his head back and running a hand through messy curls as he did so. “Yes, Ghostbur! A salmon, a fish, a scaled beauty, my darling, my love-” He continued waxing poetic as Ghost fell backwards in a fit of uncontrollable giggling. Their laughter was contagious, however, and soon Wilbur joined them.

After a lot of explaining, quite a bit of backtracking, and frequent stops for swooning, questioning, and laughter, Wilbur concluded the tale of his relationship with Sally.

“And I was left with Fundy.”

“I thought you said Fundy was your son?”

Wilbur nodded. “He is- was. Was my son. He told me he didn't want to be a girl, so he’s my son. My furry son. He had a crayon suit for the revolution, you know.” He added. “Very stylish.”

Turning to Ghost, Wilbur dissolved into laughter at the twisted expression they wore, still utterly confused. “You-” They started, clearing their throat before starting again. “You are one strange man, Wilbur-of-L’manburg Soot.”

“Et tu, Brute?”

“I don't speak Spanish.” The spirit whispered from behind his hands, eyes filled with mirth. They both snickered and were soon laughing again. After a while, both separated again to do their own things both and in and out of the plane. Ghostbur found him again in front of a pool, watching rain in Pogtopia’s forest. They sat beside him, leaning their head on his shoulder with a weary sigh. They smelled like rubbing alcohol and potato soup. Wil let them calm, feeling the tension leave their body as they grounded into the new location. He wrapped an arm around their body as they let out a soft hum.

“Tommy is sick.”

“Ah. Were you taking care of him?” Wil muttered, resting a cheek on Ghost’s fluffy curls and pressing a soft kiss into their hair.

“Yeah. Helping Technoblade, at least. I made soup!” Ghost replied. They sounded exhausted.

Wilbur watched the water drip from the trees as he felt something sick and writhing settle in his gut. “How is he? Tommy, I mean.”

Ghost cuddled closer. “Good, good. Better now. Running a fever. He woke up to vomit, before passing out again. Techno got a bit flustered and rang me.” Ghost tapped the redstone earpiece that sat nestled on the shell of his ear. “We think it's the difference between Logstedshire’s average temperatures versus Technoblade’s arctic ones. That and the altitude change.”

“Ah.” Wilbur used the arm not around Ghostbur to tug his trenchcoat more snugly around himself. He recalled the oppressive cold of Pogtopia’s many caverns, and the many times he remembered tracking Tommy down in the depths for the sole purpose of slinging that selfsame coat over the teen’s narrow shoulders. In the early days, that coat was passed between the two of them easily. Later on, it got to a point where he never took it off. It was his safety, his home, hearth, and shield. He'd hated anyone touching him, and the coat provided a much needed barrier in case someone brushed against him in a tight stairwell or a narrow catwalk. Well. He'd hated anyone touching him, the only exception being Tommy.

Wilbur came back into the present and out of his thoughts, and with his return he could feel a tenseness in his limbs and chest. He blinked, faced with the snow-blue eyes of Ghostbur staring into his with concern and blue stained hands holding his face with a gentleness only the specter could manage. “You left me there for a minute. You okay?” They murmured, head quirking to the left.

“I-” He croaked. He jerked his head down, shaking it vigorously. He pulled his hands away, tugging his coat close. Tears slipped down his nose and onto his knees, which Wilbur pulled up to chest.

Ghostbur hovered close, not touching but close enough to brush against if he moved. “Hey, hey hey hey. No talking, that's okay. You're here. You’re not in L’manburg. Not in Pogtopia either. You're  _ here _ .”

Wilbur nodded, more of a tic than an actual acknowledgement of Ghost’s words. He breathed out harshly through gritted teeth.  _ In, hold, out- no, that’s too fast, I can’t- _ He shook his head to clear it, treating his head like an etch-a-sketch.  _ Okokok ok ok. Let’s try this again. _ Wil tried to breathe deeply, but his breaths were more stuttered than anything else as he sobbed.  _ Five- five things you can touch. Simple. Should be- should be simple.  _ Just with his hands, he felt the familiar wool of his coat and the pressure from his tense fingers. He relaxed them, brow pinching when he felt the familiar ache of tired muscles there. Too tight. He used to hold Tommy too tight, not letting go- no, he can’t think about that right now.  _ Three more things. _ Damp grass underneath him. Wind. He was… cold.  _ That’s good. That’s really good, Wilbur. You’re doing great.  _ The voice in his mind sounded oddly like Ghostbur, despite the spirit themself staying silent. A mix of the both of them, the encouragement that of his friend and the complaining in a voice that was his own.  _ Four things you can see, now.  _ He squeezed his already closed eyelids tighter for a few seconds, scrunching his face up before relaxing and opening his eyes. Within the darkness of his curled body, he picked out the shadowy forms of his coat and his glasses hanging from their chain.  _ That’s two, halfway there. Let’s try looking up? This is gonna fucking suck.  _ He lifted his head a fraction of an inch out of the warm caven of his arms, glancing around. His eyes met Ghostbur’s as he scanned the trees. Neither of them addressed this.  _ Trees and Ghost. That’s four. Good. Three things you can hear.  _ The wind, the rain from the pool, his own irregular breathing and the calm hum of his companion’s.  _ That’s four dumbass. Can’t count, can you?  _ Even as the biting sarcasm sounded in his mind, he felt his body relax a sliver and his breathing smooth out even more.  _ Two things you can smell.  _ Fog and forest.  _ One taste? _

Regret.

He looked back up from his arms and into Ghost’s eyes. They smiled grimly. “You back?” They asked softly, shifting back on their heels. At Wilbur’s nod, they sat next to him on the ground, resting their head lightly on his shoulder. Wil felt the tears making tracks down his face, felt the aching loss that pressed on him from the space between his diaphragm and lungs. It hurt. Hurt to breathe, hurt to feel. He remembered a time when he’d laugh it off, push everyone away with a joke and an ‘I’m fine, I’m fine! Really, I promise.’ He was lying every time he’d done it.

“I miss him.” He said. The hollow feeling inside him only widened when he said it. Still, it felt… better. That he’d acknowledged it. “I miss him a lot.”

Ghostbur didn’t respond, simply letting him speak. It was easier like this. He could pretend it was just him and the forest.

“I- I wish I didn’t try to turn him into me.” He chuckled darkly. “I don’t even like being me, I don’t see how anyone else would find it a jolly time. I wish- I wish I could tell him I was sorry. I-” He coughed, a deep rattling in his chest. A sound that only deepened the reminder of the damp months in that fucking cave. “He was the only constant. The only person who- who stuck around. Who really believed in me, y’know? And I didn’t tell him how much that meant to me. I can’t let go, can I? A real fucking sorry chap, I am.”

Ghostbur hummed, shifting closer. “And what would you do if you could?”

“If I what?”   
“If you could go back? If Tommy was standing right in front of you, what would you tell him?”

Wilbur’s lips parted in surprise, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “Popping the existential questions, aren’t we? Warn a guy, maybe.” Still, he took the question seriously. He thought for a moment before replying. “I’m proud of you. I’ve seen what you’ve done and how you’ve grown, and I’m really proud of you. I’m sorry for being such a twisted bastard when I was alive. You didn’t deserve that, n- no one did. Except maybe Schlatt. I’ve seen more of that fucker than I ever cared to when I was alive and I’ve gotta say, he’s pretty two-dimensional, that one. Moving on-” He took a deep breath, resenting how his voice shook. “I’m gla- glad Techno is keeping you out of trouble.” Wilbur bit out, sucking a breath in through his teeth. “God fuckin- I can’t do this.”

“You were doing well until it got to Technoblade.” Ghost pointed out. It didn’t escape either specter how Wil flinched at the name. “Want to work through that?”

“Not particularly, no.” Ghostbur’s silent amusement at his response was palpable, and Wilbur sighed. “You aren’t gonna let me out of this, are you.”

“Nope!” The spirit responded brightly. “Not while you’re in a good headspace to talk about it and are stable enough to share!”

“So what if I said-”   
“You’re fine, talk about your feelings.”

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, taking off his beanie to reposition it in a more comfortable place. “He’s replaced me. I feel replaced. Have you ever felt replaced? Bet you haven’t. Fuckin’ sucks, it does.” He babbled, eyes pricking with even more tears.  _ Damn it. _ “He’s just… he’s so much better than me. Better for Tommy. He can protect him, teach him shit, be his friend. All I did was traumatize the kid, it’s only natural he attached himself to someone stable who can- fucking take care of him.” Wil huffed, feeling a few stray droplets escape his eyes and track down his cheeks. “And I wish I could’ve been that person for him, y’know? I- I tried, I thought I  _ was _ that person for him, but I wasn’t even myself anymore. Technoblade is so much better than me. Y’know, I tried to be like him?” He chuckled. It was wet, breaking free from his throat without his permission. “I got fuckin’- fucking platforms. I made my own goddamn platforms to be as tall as him. He was so intimidating, with his piglin frame and his dead eyes. I thought if I could be him, then maybe I could- I could be- I don’t know. Better? Stronger? I don’t even remember my own reasoning for it.” 

Wilbur sighed, moving his legs from tucked against his chest to crossed on the ground. He rested his elbows on his knees, taking his face in his hands. He felt more than saw Ghostbur sit up, felt his hand move up his back to rub soothing circles there. “Those were some complicated feelings,” Ghostbur said softly. “That sound like they stem from a lot of insecurity. Insecurity and that same regret that you said earlier. How do you feel?”

“Shit.”

Ghost laughed, a breathy chiming. “That’s fair, that’s fair.”

“Just sucks.” Wilbur mumbled into his hands.

“What was that?”

“Just sucks.” He said a bit louder, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. “I got to say goodbye to Philza, and it sucks that I didn’t get to do that with Tommy ‘n’ Tubbo. I don’t- I don’t think they would’ve appreciated it, regardless. It always sucks to realize that your family is human too.”

Ghostbur nodded behind him, getting up to stand next to him. They watched the rain in Pogtopia’s woods and didn’t speak again for a very long time.

Things in the world below seemed to be getting more complicated. There was a new teen, Ranboo, trying to figure out his place within the mess. Technoblade and Tommy getting caught with their propaganda, seeing the kid stand up to Dream for the first time with someone strong behind him. Wilbur appreciated it, but felt concern swirl in his stomach when the piglin mentioned a favor he owed the masked man. The dogs under the beehouse, the tension brewing between the small city-states.  _ The destroyed community house. _ Wilbur slept for a while then. He missed some very important events during that time…

Ghostbur tumbled out of the forest as usual, but something was different about their expression. They were… panicked.  _ Angry _ . Yellow sweater-ed arms wrapped around their wounded torso, the blue dripping from the cut more than Wil had ever seen before.  _ A bad day, then. A really, really bad day. _ Wilbur opened his arms, letting Ghost collapse into his body, sitting down with them and holding them close. Neither of the two tried to talk, only letting each other comfort and be comforted via the soft touch. When Wil had first come here his ears had rang for a solid week from the explosions. After Ghostbur had met him, they'd slowly gotten him reacquainted with hearing and speaking, and brought down his walls to allow for physical touch. For grounding or comfort, either way. Now it seemed that Ghost needed it more than he did. Wordlessly, Ghost dragged them to a seeing pool, showing…

Showing Tommy. Showing Tommy, and Tubbo, and L’manburg. L’manburg on fire. L’manburg destroyed. Down to bedrock, a  _ chunk error _ . Technoblade and Dream in the center, commanding the show with Withers and no hope for redemption, resurrection. That horrible obsidian grid. For as much as everyone in the world had three lives, no one would be willing to help this country to its feet to see the third. The voices of his friends, his family, his enemies. So many thoughts, too many injuries to be counted, too many to be healed with potions and golden apples.

“ _ My unfinished symphony.” _

_ “I’m a person, Tommy!” _

_ “It was never meant to be.” _

_ “Someone burned down the L'mantree!” _

_ “The discs meant more to me than you ever were!” _

_ “Don't you get it? You always choose sides, and you all always lose!” _

_ “It was never meant to be.” _

_ “It was never meant to be.” _

**_“It was never meant to be.”_ **

And within the chaos, Philza. Faced with the question of  _ why. _ And his answer struck Wilbur to his core, shocked him to his knees. His father stood in the midst of the chaos, totem in hand and trident in the other. It was hard to see in the rain, but the lightning and flames lit Phil’s face enough so Wilbur could see. Hair soaked, water dripping down his face. Eyebrows drawn. Yelling.  _ “When did I start hating government?”  _ He laughed, a choking, maddened sound. “ _ When they made me  _ **_kill my own son_ ** _!” _

Ghostbur was pacing, pointing out people, deaths, landmarks. Their friends, in the fighting. When the rain stopped, they descended. Wilbur watched as his one companion in the hell that was Unliving argued with the man that raised him. 

“You knew! You knew Friend was in there, and he’s gone now!”

“He's undying, he’ll be fine.”

“No, you don't understand! I don't know everything that Alivebur did. I’m- I'm trying to remember, but I’m not him! You can't expect me to be happy about this! I helped rebuild this country, I helped everyone here! Everyone who fought, I was their friend!”

Wilbur smiled grimly down at the destruction. His unfinished symphony, now finished for good. Tommy would always hold a piece of L’manburg. So would Eret, Fundy, Tubbo. All of the people who had fought and lost lives. Under Schlatt, under Wil. Against the both of them. L’manburg was so much more than a country, but simultaneously was just that. A piece of land, something so small shouldn't have cost that much blood. Poisoned ground. The pool rippled to reflect the clear sky of the Unliving. Wilbur shifted to lay on his back.

“I heard there was a special place, where men could go emancipate, the brutality and tyranny of their rulers. Well, this place is real, you needn’t fret, with Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret; A very big and a little blown up, L’manburg.” He sang softly, tears slipping down his face and into the soft earth beneath him. “My L’manburg, my L’manburg.”

Ghostbur didn’t come back for a while. They were in the Unliving, Wilbur could feel them. Even so, Wil suspected that they needed to be alone. He wandered the poplar and birch forests, sitting in trees and playing his guitar to no one but the birds. He watched as Eret erected the last flag of L’manburg in the crater, watched the museum be built and slowly filled as people added their pieces of the flag. As Tubbo built Snowchester. He didn’t realize the impact he’d had on Tubbo, but was glad that he was healing. Watched as everyone gathered on the Prime Path to see Tubbo and Tommy off to fight Dream. 

Watched as they _ won.  _ Tubbo, being willing to risk everything for his brother, his best friend. Tommy, not letting him go. Wilbur cried at the thought of his right-hand man joining him, not ready to see Tubbo’s face again. He cheered them on as Punz brought the battalion of everyone who’d ever loved, hated, and fought with the two came to protect them. And Dream was… gone. Imprisoned. The land was safe from him. Forever.  _ Suck it, Green Boy.  _ He smiled, tears streaming down his face.

And he felt a tug. Deep in his gut. And for the first time in Wilbur’s afterlife, he was standing behind Tommy and Tubbo in the living plane. He took a deep breath.

“Did you miss me?”


	2. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, thank you for reading and leaving comments.  
> :)

Tommy sat under the stars, laying on his back in the grass of his front lawn. The constellations twinkled as he watched the cloudless sky roll overhead. There was a time when he was all alone in the world, helpless and hurting, and he’d turned to the stars. A routine within the madness that was his life. He’d think about Wilbur. His wicked wit, his passion, his drive. And he’d ask the stars all the questions he wished he could ask Wilbur. Now, he spoke from his heart, choosing to tell Wilbur all the things he wished he could’ve said.

“Y’know big man, I think you’d like the world now.” He started, hands tucked behind his head. “You were always so angry with everything. I think you just wanted to fix it for us, make it better. I’d say we’ve done a pretty bang-up job on your behalf.” Tommy took a deep breath, savoring the soft night air. “Tubbo’s started Snowchester, and it’s coming along great. He successfully tested a nuke! He’s really fuckin’ cool, y’know that? He wasn’t just a pawn. He’s very smart. And I’m building a hotel.” He paused. “Well, Sam is. But I’m paying him! So basically I’m building it.”

He told the stars all about how everyone was doing, how the small countries were getting along. He smiled, laughed, cried some. 

“But I was thinking. And I don’t know- actually, I don’t think you’d like it here. I think you’d like what we’ve done with the place, but I don’t think you’d like being here. I love you, Wilbur, but I don’t think anyone would like that. I don’t think you’d like it. I think- I think if you were here, you’d just be angry that you couldn’t protect us. But maybe- maybe we don’t need protecting anymore. I think we’ll be okay, Wilbur. I really do.”


End file.
